


Are We Okay?

by Cobbleopolis



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: I'm Bad At Tagging, Trans Character, like really bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 12:19:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2850629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cobbleopolis/pseuds/Cobbleopolis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A gift for undertakingfandom on Tumblr for the Wrenchers Gift Exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stelliopaxperditus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stelliopaxperditus/gifts).



> This fic was written with the help of a good friend so if there seems like there are two writing styles that is why and sorry for that.

 Wrench struggled to carry and unconscious Numbers through the door. He had been driving him through the heavy rain for almost a mile. The adrenaline of the day's events had all but fled his body as he dropped Numbers onto the nearest bed. Wrench turned Numbers so that he was on his back as he began to take off his first coat. His mind was going a thousand miles an hour, incidents of the day flooding his memories. The explosion of the gun firing; Numbers’ face twisted with agony as the bullet penetrated his shoulder. The sight of Numbers’ body on the ground played again and again in his mind. It had been a cold day, more then normal it seemed. The sky had been black all day, with no sun offering any kind of warmth. The air had cut through his lungs like a million tiny knives, making it difficult to breath without coughing violently. Wrench himself had gone out with two jackets, mittens, and a scarf. And that was only from the waist up.

 Wrench’s hands were shaking as he undid the zippers on both of Numbers’ coats. He noticed a red stain on Numbers’ right shoulder. It was considerably large, but it was starting to get soaking wet. It didn’t seem like there was any immediate danger yet. He began to unbutton Numbers’ plaid shirt, taking in his white skin and defined muscles as he went. When he was about mid- torso, he stopped. There was the faintest hint of a scar that ran across  the top of Numbers’ rib cage. As he moved the shirt further apart, he wondered what could have caused such an extensive scar. He took a closer look at Numbers’ chest. It looked off in a way. Not terribly noticeable, but definitely there.

 Remembering the situation at hand Wrench returned his attention back to Numbers’ shoulder. Numbers was losing blood at an alarming rate. Wrench inspected it and  was relieved to see that the bullet had not injured any of the bone. He ran towards the restroom and grabbed their emergency first aid kit that they always kept somewhere in the motel. He took out a pair of tweezers, rubbing alcohol, and a sewing kit . After disinfecting the tweezers, he carefully started to pray the bullet out of the hole. He didn’t want to hurt him more than he had to.

 Wrench carefully took out the 9mm bullet out and inspected it. He marvelled at how such a small object could cause such extensive damage. As he started to pour the alcohol into the wound, he was transfixed at how the liquid seeped into the small hole and then got absorbed. After a moment Wrench started to prepare the  needle and thread. As Wrench leaned in to start closing up Numbers’ shoulder, Numbers’ face flinched, still unconscious. He felt knots in his stomach, hating himself for causing Numbers any type of pain. He did wish they had some anesthetic though.

 As Wrench was stitching Numbers’ shoulder closed, his thoughts drifted back to that scar he had found. He was intrigued by the size and the placement. It almost appeared to be from some type of surgery. Did Numbers have lung or heart complications? This new discovery was very troubling to him. Why didn’t Numbers tell him something was wrong? Wrench started to think the worst. Numbers would tell him if something was wrong. They had grown to trust each other. Right?

 Finished with his sewing, he tried to wrap the affected area as best he could without moving  Numbers’ shoulder. When he was satisfied, Wrench went back to the scar. Looking at it more in detail, he saw that it came from the armpit area, down to the top of the rib cage, and up again. He took a closer look at Numbers’ right pectoral; it looked fallen. Wrench noticed that the same was true on the other half of Numbers’ body as well. On both sides, the skin above the scar looked stretched, almost as if there was excess skin that had been removed. The two scars came up to his solar plexus.

 Turning Numbers’ ever so slightly, he saw another smaller scar just underneath his armpit. This one looked more like a small incision. He concluded that something must have been removed. Wrench’s immediate thought was cancer. Although it was uncommon, breast cancer did occur in men. Wrench decided to set this on the backburner and ask Numbers when he woke up. It was best not to jump to conclusions in this kind of situation.


	2. Chapter 2

 It had been a day and a half and Numbers hadn't woken up at all. Nothing looked infected since the last time Wrench changed Numbers’ bandages. Most importantly, he  was still breathing; now all he had to do was wait. Wrench had washed all their cloths twice, courtesy of the motels free washers and dryers; played at least thirteen games of solitaire and watched countless daytime TV shows; muted so it wouldn't disturb Numbers and with subtitles on for obvious reasons.

 As Wrench was cleaning their guns the second time around, he caught something move out of the corner of his eyes. Turning to face the direct of the movement, Wrench saw Numbers shifting in his sleep and his face was tensed from pain. Approaching the side of the bed, Wrench called  Numbers’ name as best he could in an attempt to help coax Numbers from his sleep.

 As Numbers slowly came out of his sleep, he attempted to sign something but the pain in his right shoulder stopped him from lifting his arm at all. Wrench slowly signed “You were shot in the shoulder. You need to rest.” Signing as best as he could with one hand Numbers replied “Well I figured that out.”

Smiling slightly, Wrench asked,“Are you hungry?”

“Very.”

 Wrench got up and grabbed his take out leftovers and put them in the microwave. He set the timer for a minute and a half, all the while watching Numbers for any sudden movements.

“How long was I out?” Numbers asked.

“About a day and a half.”

 For a long time, their was this awkward tension between them; one that Wrench wasn't familiar with. It felt as if something had shifted between them; something irreversible. Despite being in this situation with Numbers, he felt lost this time. He couldn't explain it, but somehow he felt almost uncomfortable with Numbers, a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time. It was relieving when the microwave finished. He grabbed Numbers’ food and brought it to his bed side. Then he just sat there and watched Numbers eat. He followed the fork with his eyes as it went down, brought food up, and disappeared in Numbers’ lips. There was something fascinating about watching someone eat, especially sense Numbers hadn't moved in such a long time.

 As Numbers continued to devour his food, Wrench couldn't help but take this time to admire Numbers. Even with the look of pain on his face, he still looked strong. His hair was a mess, and it was noticeable  that he needed a shower; nevertheless he was beautiful. As his eye traveled down Numbers’ body, his eye caught on that scar. It contrasted on his white skin so much that it was almost impossible to miss.

 Wrench was itching to ask Numbers about the scar. Where it had come from, what caused it. He didn't know if this was the right moment or not. Numbers had just woken up and he knew that they never talked about their pasts. It was always one of those things that never seemed important. But he really was curious.

 Numbers must of noticed Wrench staring because he waved his hand in front of him to get his attention. “Hey, is everything alright?” Numbers attempted to sign with one hand.

 “Yeah I was just wondering... where did you get that?”

 “Get what?”

 “The scar,” he gestured towards Numbers’ midsection, “where did you get it?”

 Wrench watched as Numbers’ got overwhelmed and was clearly trying to hide it. His eyes got wide and he started panting. The hand that was still holding his food started to shake so much that Wrench was afraid he was going to spill it onto himself. Wrench felt that he was trapped between a rock and a hard place; he had no idea that the question would be so unsettling. He tried to reach out to Numbers’ to offer comfort, but he just shoved Wrench off. Numbers tried to stand up but just fell back onto the bed.

 “What’s wrong?” signed Wrench.

 “Just leave me alone!”

 That devastated Wrench more than he would have ever expected. He was just trying to help. Nevertheless he got up, hoping against hope that Numbers would open up to him. Sometimes he felt like he was walking blind with Numbers, unsure of what to do or what to say. There was so much about him that he didn't know. And how he craved to know everything about his beloved Numbers, but he wouldn't be settling down anytime soon.

 He took the car out to the nearby coffee shop so Numbers couldn't go anywhere too far. After a while, Wrench started to get mad at Numbers for lashing out to him like that. He hadn't done anything wrong, just asked a question. Why did he get so upset? He just had to let Numbers calm down. But how long  would that take? He just wished he hadn't just messed up big time.

 After about an hour of roaming the streets aimlessly, Wrench made his way back to the car and drove back to the room. He immediately noticed that Numbers was no longer in the bed. A panic embraced Wrench until he saw a light coming out of the bathroom. He carefully made his way towards it and opened the door slightly. He saw Numbers staring into the mirror. He was inspecting himself, it seemed. Wrench could see that he was saying something to himself, but couldn't make out what it was. He slowly backed away from the door and sat on the bed. He waited patiently for Numbers to come out. When he did, they just stared at each other. Neither of them moved or said anything for quite some time.

 “Did I do something wrong? It seems that I struck a nerve back there” signed Wrench.

 Numbers sat down next to him, “No, I over reacted.”

 Wrench looked down, afraid to see Numbers’ face, “Are you ever going to talk to me about it?” Numbers pulled Wrench’s chin up so that he was looking at him, “Is it important to you?”

 “I want to know if there is something wrong, or if it’s something I should know about.”

 Numbers let out a sigh “Well…”

 “If you don’t want to tell me it’s fine,” Wrench rushed out. The truth was that if Numbers didn't tell him, he was going to be tortured for who knows how long, but he’d respect Numbers’ decision.

 “No, I need to tell you,” Numbers shifted so that he was sitting cross-legged on the bed. He gestured Wrench to do the same.

 Numbers reached for his discarded jacket and took out his phone. Wrench watched anxiously as Numbers flipped through his phone, searching for something. He watched how Numbers’ hand was shaking, and his face showed panic. Wrench was about to tell him to stop, but the Numbers had apparently found what he was looking for. He turned the phone so that wrench saw a picture of a girl. She had a similar face structure to Numbers, but other than that they were nothing alike.

 “Who is that?” As far as he knew, Numbers didn't have any family.

 “She used to be me...” Numbers signed with one hand.

 Wrench could only stare at him. How could this be possible? It didn't make sense. There is no way Numbers could have been a girl. But then Wrench remembered Numbers’ chest. He remembers how it looked off. He was beginning to understand. But as he put the pieces together, he couldn't help but feel confused.

 “Hey,” Numbers snapped him out of his thoughts, “are you okay?”

 Wrench could only nod. Numbers took his good hand and squeezed it tightly. Wrench looked up and saw a storm of worry in Numbers’ eyes. He saw all of Numbers’ insecurities and had them reflected into him.with his not so good hand

 “Are W-E okay?” he signed spelling out we to add emphasis.

 Numbers was as pale as a ghost. He was now shaking from head to toe. His eyes were wide with worry and anticipation. In that moment, Wrench realized that it had taken a huge amount of courage for Numbers to tell him this. He realized that Numbers must of had his reasons for keeping it from him for this long. What they were didn't matter. It was in the past, and it wasn't that important.

 “We’re okay.” 


End file.
